Mark Dimassimo
Poots, Poats, Herzigs and everyone who loved Mrs. Poot, Geertuida, Truus, Trudy, or whatever you called her. Other than my own mother, she was the woman I spent the most of my growing up years with and around. In my young and impressionable life, she was an a wonderful ambassador of that Dutch spirit of life which aimed to create an atmosphere of Gezelligheid, to make things gezellig (an untranslatable but important Dutch word which, for the non-family readers of this, means something like cozy, convivial, close... and which I identify with those moments of flow and perfection one sometimes feels just spending time with family or friends). She never lacked authority, but she was an adult in my life who wasn't just an authority figure, someone you could spend some time talking with, listening to Yanni or Gino Vanelli, drinking tea and eating peanut butter toast, and maybe even contemplating the vibrations that permeate the universe. As a counter example, I'll never forget the time that Rudy and I went out in drag for Halloween, and Rudy ABSOLUTELY NEEDED to wear her fur coat, and the way her voice rose and rose to impossible volumes and her usually soft and smooth Dutch accent turned staccato and almost German. Rudy did wear the fur coat that night. Even after all that, she relented, as she typically did when her children absolutely needed (or just totally wanted) something. And I won't say that he looked lovely that night, but that coat was a really classy touch. She, and you, will always be an important and much loved part of my life.